


the tale of two tents

by orphan_account



Category: Easy Allies RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Camping, And too much stuff about the forest if i'm being completely honest, Crushes, Fireworks, Genderfluid Character, Implied homophobia, Other, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7660975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael P. Huber really, really likes camping. Nothing weird about it, he just likes it. He also likes Ian Hinck, the pretty kid who's not really a kid and takes bets too easily when drunk and absolutely hates tents. Oh, hell, he's head over heels for this pretty boy already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the tale of two tents

Huber will it admit that, yeah, it’s a bit odd that he wants to spend his Fourth of July weekend alone in the middle of the woods instead of with his friends. It’s probably more than just a bit, but there’s only so much to admit to before his tent becomes some stilted version of a Catholic confessional.

He just likes the woods, plenty of people do, it’s not unheard of. It’s quiet, it’s a place where he can go and just… Be, for lack of a better term. He can just stay there, among the trees, the forest, the animals, and he can be a part of something much bigger than himself while simultaneously being a foreign entity crouched in the leaf litter. He’s making it way too fucking poetic, honestly, he just likes the feel of the place. And that makes him sound like a hippie, which might be worse than sounding poetic, but he doesn’t care anymore, he’s done giving a commentary on his life for a little while.

He’s setting up his tent, green canvas on the poles, poles on the spikes, spikes in the earth, and mallet on the spikes, driving them further and further down. He doesn’t want his tent to blow away, he can’t deal with a repeat of that spring two years ago. He doesn’t know if he can. He swings the mallet again, harder this time, fueled by stale embarrassment that hasn’t seen the light in so long. He’d rather it stay that way, to be honest, tucked back in the far, far reaches of his mind. 

There’s a crashing in the woods and Huber freezes, clutching the mallet closer to his chest. Haphazard heavy steps and breaking twigs and the fact that Huber can’t see what exactly is walking towards him makes it so fucking worse. It could be a vicious animal for all he knows and a rubber mallet isn’t exactly the optimum weapon for fighting against something that thinks he invaded its territory. Maybe a broadsword. Or an ax. Now isn’t the time for this. The crashing comes closer and Huber can’t bring himself to move, he’s trying to rack his brain, trying to remember which animal’s sight is based on movement and weighing his options while biting his lip and-

The line of shrubbery breaks and something falls forward with a decidedly un-animal like yelp. The guy stands, wincing, trying to brush broken leaves off his jeans and Huber lets out a sigh of relief.

“Holy hell, thank God, I thought you were a bear.” Huber says and the guy looks up, cocking his head to the side and- Wow. He’s a pretty boy and- Wow. Can Huber be anymore gay? The guy grins, all blue eyes and undercut and falling fringe, and it’s not really that gay if someone is just objectively  _ pretty _ .

“And I thought you were a pup, but I guess we shouldn’t make assumptions.” The guy laughs and Huber blushes a deep red, he shouldn’t get that reference, but he does and he hates himself for it.

“Yeah, probably not.” Huber says, instead, shrugging. “Uh, are you okay? Took quite a tumble while you were scaring the shit out of me.”

“Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.” Pretty Boy rubs the back of his hair and Huber can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if Pretty Boy is worried about his hair. “And sorry, I’m just not really used to the woods. Don’t get out in them a lot. Or ever. Never, really, I don’t even want to be here right now, actually.” And Huber is so confused, how has this boy been able to bewilder him in about twenty seconds flat? He hasn’t been this confused since he was in eighth grade and saw Stephen Mackowitz shirtless and boy howdy, was that a day. 

“Then why are you?” Huber swallows. “Out here, I mean. In the woods. Not to be rude! Just… Wondering, I guess.”

“It’s a bet.” Pretty Boy explains and he drops his backpack onto one of his arms, cracking his back and groaning. “My friend, Elyse, she said I couldn’t be out here for three days on my own and, well, I was drunk and long story short, I’ve got two hundred dollars riding on being able to set up a tent correctly and being able to cook food on a campfire without killing myself.” Huber laughs.

“God, does drunk you get sober you into this much trouble often?” He asks and Pretty Boy shrugs and his hair shifts and Huber needs to not be looking at his hair right now.

“It’s like a bi-weekly thing at this point. We have an arrangement.” Pretty Boy glances around the clearing and Huber feels strangely self-conscious as his eyes sweep over the small setup he has going here even though Pretty Boy just admitted that he didn’t know how to set up a tent. “After the hair dye debacle of 2011, we signed a contract together. Took a whole lot of liquor and convincing, but I got the paper around somewhere at home.” Huber nods and there’s a beat of silence and then another and another and he realizes that Pretty Boy is probably waiting for him to answer. He clears his throat.

“You can set up here. If you want. I can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay reasonably alive.” Huber offers, smiling, and Pretty Boy smiles back. “Uh, I’m moving tomorrow, though, further up. I want to be on top for Sunday, see all the fireworks, y’know?”

“No sweat, man. That’d be sweet, actually. Only if you’re up to it though, I’ve been told that keeping an eye on me is a burden no man should be shackled with.” Pretty Boy laughs and Huber chuckles.

“Did Elyse tell you that?” He asks. “And I’m up for it, don’t worry.”

“No, actually, it was a line in a poem I found duct taped to my fridge signed ‘Drunk Ian’. Oh, my name’s Ian, by the way. Maybe should’ve started with that.” Ian, it suits him well, much better than Pretty Boy did, and Ian smiles, rubbing the back of his hair again and Huber still can’t tell.

“I’m Huber.” Ian raises an eyebrow. “Michael P. Huber, my friends just call me Huber. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know, they’re an odd breed of people.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Huber. Anywhere in particular I should set up my tent?” Ian asked, glancing around once again.

“Well, not right next to the fire ring and a bit away from mine, so like there.” Huber waves his hand at a mostly clear patch of ground. “Make sure there aren’t any rocks or you’ll be super uncomfortable when you sleep.”

“Good ol’ Huber, looking out for me already.” Ian tosses his backpack down, kneeling next to it to pull out his tent.

Huber spends a good thirty minutes walking around the clearing, picking up twigs and smaller logs for the campfire and watching Ian struggle with his tent. He wasn’t kidding about having not set one up before. At one point he smacks himself in the face with the pole and ends up cursing at it for forty seconds. At another point he tries to stretch his tent up and ends up getting trapped in it. And when Ian manages trip over his tent and land face down in the dirt, Huber decides to step in.

“You need some help?” Huber offers and Ian nods, quickly, standing up and brushing dirt and leaves from his clothes for the second time today.

“Oh my God, yes. I’m about to say fuck it and decide to sleep in the trees. Like, I’m so close.” Ian groans, glaring down at his tent with a look that would probably kill the tent if it was alive. Huber laughs and he shows Ian how to slide the poles together and makes a big show of not hitting himself with them. Ian huffs, but smiles, and very nearly hits Huber’s hand with the mallet when they’re driving the spikes into the ground. Huber isn’t sure if it was one hundred percent an accident. 

“See, perfect!” Huber exclaims, zipping the door to Ian’s tent closed. “And it only took us an hour.” Ian looks at him, shaking his head in amazement.

“I don’t understand why you enjoyed that. That was horrible, Huber, horrible. Tents are a plague that have befallen humankind.” Ian grips his arm, he’s so close to smiling, Huber can see it in his eyes, but he’s committed to playing the part. “Let me cook you dinner, sir, a repayment for your kindness.”

“I thought you said you were worried about cooking for yourself on a campfire?” Huber doesn’t quite form a sentence, doesn’t quite form a question, either, it’s probably something in the middle, but Ian seems to get it and he shrugs.

“Yeah, if I was cooking just for me, I’d be more than a little careless.” He says it so easily that Huber has to review the words in his head twice before letting worry plant its seeds in his chest. “But for you, dear Huber, I shall make no mistake! I may be in the God damned woods, but that doesn’t mean I’ll eat bad food.” Huber raises an eyebrow, but lets Ian go through with his plan.

Good food ends up being cans of tomato soup and baked potatoes wrapped in tin foil, slow cooked in the embers of the fire. It’s actually a lot better that Huber expected, and he tells Ian so.

“Told you so.” Ian retort, drinking the last few drops of his soup. “And give me your can, we can use ‘em for other stuff.” Huber hands his over and it clicks against Ian’s.

Something buzzes and Huber jumps and Ian pulls his phone from his pocket. Huber relaxes immensely.

“Are you allowed to use your phone during the bet?” Huber questions and Ian shakes his head, eyes flicking over the screen in his hands.

“I have to send Elyse a text every evening to let her know I’m not dead. Other than that, no. C’mere.” Ian beckons to him with one hand, tapping on his phone with the other. “We’re going to take a selfie to send to her.”

Ian wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him closer.  The fire cast yellow light and grey shadows across the clearing and the sky is black and Ian’s skin is warm, his breath is warm, and Huber needs to stop developing crushes so easily, more specifically developing useless, dead end crushes so easily. He’s known Ian for four hours and he’s halfway to head over heels.

And then, all too quickly, Ian lets him go and he’s tapping at his phone, smirking. He looks up and his phone buzzes in his hand. Then again. Then again. Ian looks back down.

“What’s she saying?” Huber asks and Ian scrolls through the messages on his lock screen.

“Uh, first off, she said that she thinks you’re cute, then she asked how I managed to find a person in the woods, and now she thinks you’re an ax murderer and is telling me to be careful and that you’re definitely going to kill me and she’ll have to spend the two hundred dollars on my funeral.” Ian laughs and it echoes through the clearing, through the night. The fire crackles, logs shifting, embers glowing bright. 

“Are you going to tell her everything’s okay?” Huber asks, worried for this girl who is somewhere, also worried that he’s going to kill her friend. Ian shakes his head.

“Nah, leave her in suspense. She’s the one that orchestrated this whole thing, anyway. Tomorrow I’ll send her a picture of just you.” Ian laughs again and Huber has a feeling that he does this sort of thing pretty often.

“That’s, uh, well. It’s a plan, I guess.” Huber stands, stretching, groaning as his neck cracks. “You ever had a banana boat?”

“That sounds like a weird sex thing, so in that case, maybe?” Ian offers and Huber slants his eyes at him. Ian puts up his hands in defense. “Drunk Ian gets up to a lot of stuff, okay? Don’t blame me for his misdeeds. Blame Sangria and Elyse and fruity cocktails.”

“It’s… It’s not a sex thing.” Huber is floundering here and Ian really through him for a loop with that speculation because maybe it is a sex thing and he just doesn’t know about it. “It’s a dessert you eat when you’re camping.”

“Wait, really? I thought s'mores were the only camping dessert.” Ian sits up slightly, furrowing his eyebrows. “Do you mean to tell me I brought all these marshmallows for nothing?”

“No, you can use those in banana boats. You usually do, actually, it’s like the base ingredient. Here, hang on one second.” Huber crawls over to his bag and digs through it before pulling out a thin plastic bag. He crawls back over to Ian. 

“What’cha got in there?” Ian asks, trying to see through the mostly opaque bag before giving up. 

“Stuff for making banana boats. I honestly think you should have known that just from context.” Huber shakes his head and unties the knot in the top of the bag. “Look, you take a banana and a knife, this one is plastic because we’re in the woods, and you cut out a section of the peel and hollow it out in the middle. Like a boat.”

“More like a canoe, if you ask me.” Ian murmurs and Huber glares at him. “Okay, fine! A boat it is then. Here, give me the knife, let me catch up with you. You’re a horrible teacher, Huber.” He takes the knife from Huber’s hand and cuts his own banana quickly. “Alright, is this good?”

“Yeah, should be.” Huber rifles through the bag again. “Here, just put toppings on it. In it. Yeah, just like marshmallows and chocolate and crumbled up graham crackers. “

“So, it is a s’more… With banana.” Ian raises an eyebrow as he puts a layer of mini marshmallows in the bottom of his banana. Huber shrugs. 

“I mean, yeah. Basically. It’s a lot fancier, though.” Huber says and Ian snorts. 

“Fancier? Huber, man, sorry to break it to you, but it’s a banana with some chocolate in it. I fail to see how that could be fancy.” Ian turns up his chin.

“You’re mind just isn’t broad enough.” Huber grumbles, putting chocolate chips in his banana with far more force than is necessary. “These are a  _ delicacy _ . You don’t even have to make them when you’re camping, you can make them in an oven or a microwave, even. We used to do it all the time when I was a kid and we’d watch stupid movies about horses and teen romance. All of it was straight, though, never watched a thing with a gay kid in it.”

“Fuck, I’m ruining your childhood memories.” Ian laughs, nervously. “Sorry, man.”

“What? No! You’re not ruining anything!’ Huber says, words coming too quickly, falling in a rushed tumble. “Really! Childhood memories are really slanted perceptions of a specific time in your life when you didn’t really understand what was happening around you. It’s a weird thing. One of the weirdest things the human mind does, actually.”

“Huh. I get what you mean, though, with the memories. Sometimes you don’t realize how bad something is until you’re older.” There’s a lapse, a silence, too heavy, too choking, and Ian’s face looks gaunt in the flickering light, shadows cast across his cheekbones and in the hollows under his eyes. Ian blinks and a log shifts and Huber’s world snaps back into reality like over stretched elastic.  

“Here, give me your banana, we’ll cook them.” He wraps them in tin foil and places them at the edge of the fire ring, near the lowest burning embers and the slowly dying sparks. “You can’t put them  _ in _ the fire because, y’know, they’ll burn and I don’t know if you’ve ever had burnt banana, but it is not good.”

“I haven’t.” Ian laughs, he laughs a lot, Huber notices. Huber needs to stop noticing things about Ian. “Doesn’t sound good though.”

“It’s  _ not _ .” Huber says with a passion that should be reserved for something other than burnt fruit. “Imagine eating charcoal, except it’s chalky and kind of sweet.” Ian grimaces. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, you’re blessed if the sin of burnt banana has never passed your lip.”

“Is that in the bible?” Ian asks, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah. There were actually eleven commandments, but Moses tripped coming down that mountain and broke the tablet. He didn’t want to look clumsy, so he just said there were ten.” Huber says and Ian smiles, tilting his head and his fringe hangs halfway over one of his eyes.

“Guess I should’ve payed attention in bible school, huh?” Ian asks. Huber shrugs.

“I mean, not really. My bible school teacher only told me that being gay was a sin and look where that got me. I also caught him kissing somebody’s husband behind the church, though, I honestly felt really bad for him.” Huber says, shifting positions, tucking his knees under his chin. “Still a dick, though. The bananas should be done, you want to try ‘em?” Ian nods and Huber very narrowly avoids burning his hand on the tinfoil wrapper.

They eat in mostly silence and Ian gets chocolate smeared across his face and there’s an owl somewhere close to them that won’t stop hooting.

“That was really good, thanks.” Ian smiles at Huber, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I’m gonna go to sleep, though, so see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight.” Huber bids him and Ian ducks into his tent. Huber stays sitting by the fire for a good while after that, listening to Ian quietly sing small songs as he gets ready to sleep.

They eat packets of instant oatmeal with fire boiled water from empty soup cans in the morning and Ian is much better at taking down his tent than putting it up. 

“I don’t think anyone understands how much I hate tents.” Ian grumbles, stuffing the canvas into the holding bag. “Houses were invented for a reason. Wake the fuck up, sheeple.”

“I’m sure tents hate you too, but if you could learn to love again, Ian, they would forgive you. And you can’t carry a house with you.” Huber points out. Ian spins, pointing an accusing finger at Huber.

“Wake the fuck up, sheeple!” He shouts and a small flock of birds burst from the trees above them, startled. 

“You’re going to wake up all the animals on the mountain with that racket.” Huber chuckles and Ian takes a deep breath.

“Wake the fuck up, sheeple!” He screams at the top of his lungs. Huber covers his ears, wincing. “See? Perfect. Now they all know that they should wake the fuck up and see tents for what they truly are, fuckin’ useless.” Huber sighs, shouldering his backpack.

“Yeah, yeah. We should probably go now, before a recently awoken coyote comes to eat us.” Huber rolls his eyes and walks out of the clearing, Ian hurrying behind him. 

It’s a hot day, hotter than Huber expected, and clouds are gathering, low and heavy in the sky. Ian is whistling some song that Huber has never heard before, but it’s catchy and Huber is humming along before he can stop himself. 

It’s weirdly dreamlike, hazy heat and slow-singing songbirds and and green light filtering through the leaves and the prettiest boy Huber has ever seen walking in front of him and kicking pebbles with his Vans. It doesn’t seem real, more like a reflection in a mirror or a rippling pond, always about to break, the only thing holding it together is surface tension and the tension in Huber’s body that can’t seem to melt away.

“You okay, Huber?” Ian asks and Huber blinks, Ian is a good bit away from him, looking back, at some point he must have stopped walking.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m good. The woods make everything a little weird, kinda not real, y’know?” Huber asks, shaking his head. Ian shrugs.

“I guess, man. You coming?” Ian turns back around and Huber scurries to catch up with him.

They eat lunch in a patch of flowers, sun warmed nectarines and wheat crackers from Ian’s seemingly never-ending supply of food. It’s warm and the sky is a dark grey. Huber picks violets and bluebells and poppies and daisies, stringing them together with their own stalks that bend and break under his touch. When he finally has a sort of lopsided ring of flowers, he nestles it on Ian’s head, careful not to mess up his hair.

“Thanks.” Ian says, bringing a hand up to the crown.

“You look like a woodland pixie.” Huber laughs, brushing pollen from his fingertips onto the soft grass. “A fairy.” Ian stiffens, almost imperceptibly.

“Don’t call me that. Sorry, just- Don’t.” He bites his lip and ducks his head, just slightly, but the flower crown slips forward.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t.” The silence is choking.

“It’s just- It’s a thing I have. Those damn childhood memories, rearing their heads, yeah?” A bitter smile creeps across Ian’s face and he shakes his head. Huber stands, slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. Do you - Do you want to go swimming? There’s a river up here and a place called Turtle Head and it’s great. Take your mind off this heat.” Huber smiles, offering Ian a hand.

“Sure, Huber.” His smile is more happy, less bitter, and he takes Huber’s hand and lets himself be pulled up. “And thanks for the crown. Makes me feel like royalty. Do I look like it, though? The ruler of a kingdom, governing with an iron fist?”

“I think you’d be more of a benevolent monarch, to be honest. Looking out for your people, putting their needs first.” Huber jokes and Ian rolls his eyes.

The only things they leave in the flower field are impressions in the grass and two half-buried nectarine pits. 

They fall in step beside each other, back to banter, back to hiking, back to easy jokes, easy talking, easy touches, warm air, grey sky, blue eyes, pretty boy, and Huber. 

It takes them longer than Huber remembers to get to the river, but that might be because Ian stops to take pictures of every bug and salamander and pretty leaf that they find. They do get there eventually, though, and the sky hangs low, ominous and dark and entirely too cliche.

“I don’t have any trunks.” Ian says, kneeling low to the water. His face is reflected perfectly in the water until he drags his finger through it and it shatters.

“Just swim in your boxers, I guess?” Huber shrugs, pack hitting the ground with a dull thud as he drops it. “That’s what I was going to do.”

“Alrighty, then.” Ian drops his bag in a similar fashion and they strip on the bank, clothes in a pile on the rocks and sandy earth.

“Look, you just have to go all at once.” Huber calls to Ian, waste deep in the water. Ian is still on the bank, looking apprehensively at the sluggish river. “This is mountain water and it’s a hell of a lot colder than water lower down. You just have to go all at once.”

“Fine, fine.” Ian groans, letting his head fall back. “Alright, I’m gonna count and then I’m gonna go. 3, 2-” Ian runs full tilt into the water, drop splashing onto his shoulders and Huber’s face as he stops suddenly next to Huber. “Oh my God, oh my God, it’s so cold. Why is it cold? Huber, I’m going to die, it’s so cold.”

“Calm down, Ian!” Huber laughs, hands held in front of his chest. “You’re not going to die. And it gets warmer once you submerge your whole body in it. Look, like this.” Huber holds his nose and ducks down, letting the water cover his head and roar in his ears like blood-rushed adrenaline. He surfaces, gasping. “See? Easy.”

“No way in hell am I doing that.” Ian shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest. He takes a step back, further into the water. “No way. That’s something I wi- Motherfu-” His shout is cut off as he falls backwards into the water. Huber laughs. He comes back up, spluttering. “I nearly died, how can you be laughing?” He sounds indignant and Huber just laughs harder.

“I-I forgot to tell you that the rocks are slippery. Oh my God, your face!” Huber covers his face with his hands. Ian huffs and splashes Huber again.

“Fuck off, okay? You’re a horrible person.” Ian accuses and Huber sticks out his tongue, wading further into the river until it’s deep enough for him to swim. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Huber counters and Ian shrugs, letting himself sink back into the water.

“Why’s this place called Turtle Head anyway?” Ian asks. His hair is floating to the surface, trailing behind him. “You have sex with a turtle or something? I mean, I’m not gonna fault you, but c’mon, man.”

“What? No! No, of course not. Why would you even think-” Huber covers his eyes with the flat of his hand. Y’know. Y’know, I’m just not going to ask.  I don’t need to know. It’s called Turtle Head because that huge boulder behind you looks like a turtle’s head. Generic name, not generic rock.” Ian spins, looking up.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I guess it kind of does. It looks more like a lumpy rock to me, but okay. Sure.” Ian tilts his head. “Does it like change in the light or something?”

“Shut up, it totally looks like a turtle, you just don’t know what you’re talking about.” Huber says and Ian looks over his shoulder at him, eyes narrowed.

“Huber, have you ever seen a turtle?” Ian asks and Huber gestures at him in that holding up hands to his shoulders and scrunching his face up type of way, a more primitive way to ask ‘Why the fuck did you ask me that, Ian? Who the fuck do you think you are? Asking if I’ve ever seen a turtle, this is such bullshit. Have I ever seen a turtle? Have you ever seen a turtle? Huh? Well, have you, pretty boy? Answer the fucking question, Ian, have you ever seen a god damned turtle? Do you have the right to ask that to  _ me _ ? Right, I didn’t fucking think so, you damn turtle fucker interrogation expert.’. All in all, it’s a much quicker way to convey his feelings than actually saying them. 

“Of course I’ve seen a turtle. Why would you even ask me that?” Huber asks, managing to boil his internal monologue down to the fewest words possible. 

“Because, dearest Michael, that rock looks more like a pile of not quite mixed correctly instant mashed potatoes on the Thanksgiving table that is slowly withering even more under the unrelenting glare of your family members.” Ian says, putting so much detail into his description that Huber has to wonder if he knows what a sad pile of mashed potatoes looks like first hand. 

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that.” Huber shrugs. “Never experienced that, honestly, I always make mashed potatoes from, y’know,  _ potatoes _ .” Ian pulls a face.

“Do you leave the skin on or no?” Ian questions. Huber thinks about it for a second.

“Skin on. You have to give it a bit of texture, otherwise it’s like eating warm cotton.” Huber scratches the side of his face. There’s a breeze, chilling, rustling the branches on the trees and picking up dead leaves from the ground.

“That’s disgusting, Huber.” Ian shakes his head. “You want mashed potatoes to slide down your throat. You do not want to choke on them. That’d be the absolute worst.”

“Hey, I’ve only choked on mashed potatoes once and that was when somebody made me laugh.” Huber shakes his head. “That was one of the worst days of my life. I was in the middle of a restaurant and I had to get heimliched. The potatoes had no peels, by the way.”

“You’re such a loser, Huber.” Ian laughs, he means nothing by it. “I bet you never went to that place again.”

“I went one more time and when the guy greeted me as ‘the potato choking kid’ I ducked out of there real quick.” Huber flushes as Ian shakes his head. “Never again. ‘S why I don’t eat mashed potatoes anymore. I’m traumatized.”

“Oh yes, poor, poor Huber. No more mashed potatoes for you. How will you ever live?” Ian places a hand over his heart and Huber bites his lip, smiling. 

The sky rumbles, low and rough and loud and Ian looks suddenly perplexed.

“Okay, let’s just say that if lightning struck the river, we’d be dead, right?” Ian asks and Huber blinks.

“Either that or a bit fried. C’mon, we should get going anyway, we still have to get to a place where we can set up camp.” Huber beckons to Ian as he starts to wade to the shore.

“Ugh, I think I’d rather be electrocuted than set up that damn tent again.” Ian follows Huber out of the river, dripping water on the shore. It runs in rivulets across his arms. “And now I’m even colder, damn it, Huber.”

“Put on clothes.” Huber suggests, pulling his shirt over his head. 

“Do I have to though?” Ian picks up his jeans, eyeing them with contempt. “I’m covered in water.  _ Covered _ .”

“Just put on your clothes.” Huber says, attempting to pull on his own jeans while standing on one foot. “It’s gonna be hot in just a second and you’ll be dry real quick.”

“But, like, what’ll happen if I don’t?” Ian asks and Huber is about eighty-eight percent certain that he’s only following this train of thought to be difficult.

“Bug bites and the alienation of any other hikers we might come across.” Huber answers and Ian rolls his eyes before pulling on his shirt.

“I’ll have you know that at this exact moment in time, I hate everything.” Ian declares.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you do.” Huber shoulders his pack again. “Now hurry up, I’m not going to wait forever just for you, and then you’ll have to set up your tent on your own.”

“No, you can’t do that.” Ian shakes his head, pulling on his shoes, and Huber starts to walk away. “Okay! Wait, wait, I’m coming! Holding the fact that you’re a tent whisperer above my head, I swear…”

Ian tries to strike up a deal once they finally find a place to set up camp.

“Look, you set up my tent and I’ll build a fire, okay?” Ian offers. “This is a fair trade off. No tricks, just trade. No tricks of the trade, either, I’m just convinced that my tent will kill me if I touch it again.” 

“Not sure how you’re going to manage sleeping in it, but okay.” Huber shrugs, taking Ian’s tent from his hands. “Can you start a fire, though?”

“I went through a rebellious teenager phase too, y’know.” Ian huffs. “I can light things on fire as well as the next person.”

An hour, two set up tents, and eight failed attempts at a fire later, Huber decides to step in.

“I swear I used to be good at this.” Ian promises, running a hand through his hair. “Though maybe the fires I set were a bit more in barrels. And gasoline doused.”

“Jesus Christ.” Huber mutters, tossing a lit match into the leaves in the fire pit. They start to smolder, flames licking at the bigger logs. “You are a hinderance.”

“A hinderance that’s cooking you dinner, so.” Ian puts his hands on his hips as Huber stands.

“What’re you even making?” Huber asks and Ian shrugs.

“Mac and cheese, probably.” He says and Huber shoots him a questioning glance. “Look, I spent hours looking up recipes to make while camping and there was one for non-milk mac and cheese, so here we are.”

“I’m not sure how you manage to fit everything into that bag of yours, but okay. Hopefully it’ll turn out better than that fire.” Huber smirks.

“Oh my God, shut up.” Ian rolls his eyes and drags a hand across his face. “You set our tents up under a tree, for God’s sake. Aren’t you not supposed to do that.”

“If it looks like it’s going to rain, you put your tent under a tree so it doesn’t get really, really wet.” Huber explains. “Stop trying to one up me with camping facts, okay? You should just face it, you know nothing about camping.”

“Never.” Ian refuses, turning up his nose at Huber. “I will never admit to not knowing something.”

Ian makes mac and cheese like he said he would and they put it in, again, empty can. They’re sitting cross-legged next to the campfire, just out of range of the occasional popping spark. 

“Okay, so maybe I’ll admit to not knowing that you definitely need milk to make good mac and cheese.” Ian peers into the can in his hands. “Yeah, definitely, this is more like soup and noodles than good quality mac.”

“Did you just call it ‘mac’?” Huber asks and Ian nods. “Sounds like a name you’d call a dog. You really need the ‘and cheese’ tacked on the end there to get the point across.”

“Don’t bash mac, man. Its self esteem is already bad enough when it’s covered in this orange water.” Ian shakes his head. “We should try it at least, yeah? Instead of just staring at it.” Huber grimaces, but presses the can to his lips and throws his head back. He promptly chokes and spits it out on the ground, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Holy hell.” He manages. “Why is it so  _ salty _ ?”

“I don’t… I don’t know? Maybe the milk and butter counteracts it when you make it properly.” Ian suggests. “We should probably get rid of this.” He stands, taking Huber’s can from him, and flings the failed mac and cheese into the woods. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“It’s fine, really! We can just eat s’mores and chill out, alright? Don’t sweat it, this is no big deal.” Huber reassures him and Ian smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m down for that.” He sits back down next to Huber as Huber digs through his bag for the marshmallows. 

“You are a heathen!” Huber accuses as Ian lets his marshmallow burst into flames. “How can you eat something like that?”

“Uh, really easily?” Ian looks at his marshmallow then back at Huber. “It’s not hard. You just kind of eat it. Like, with your mouth?”

“Wow.” Huber sighs. “So uncivilized. You have to go slowly, Ian, get that golden brown sheen across it all.”

“I can’t believe how pretentious you are about marshmallows.” Ian’s marshmallow bursts into flames and he pulls it out of the fire to blow on it softly. It looks more like a lump of charcoal than a marshmallow at this point. “Don’t tell me you’re like this with hot chocolate and believe that it has to made with milk.”

“No!” Huber shakes his head quickly. “Hot chocolate made with just milk is… weird. And really thin. You have to use the instant stuff with water and then stir in half and half. It’s the only way.” 

“Finally, one thing you’re right about.” Ian fistbumps Huber a bit awkwardly, trying not to drop his half formed s’more at the same time. 

“Are you going to text Elyse?” Huber asks, glancing at the sky. “Looks like it’s getting late.”

“Oh, yeah! Almost forgot.” Ian pats down his pockets in search of his phone. “Would serve her right if I didn’t text her, though. That’s too mean, though. Ah!” Ian pulls his phone out of one of his pockets and starts typing, quickly. “This, on the other hand, I don’t think is  _ too _ mean.”

“What are you going to tell her?” Huber asks, warily. Ian grins.

“Oh, y’know. The usual ‘turns out Huber is scarily good with an ax, being so taken care of right now’. That’ll freak her out. Oh, maybe I should take another picture.” He looks at Huber, dead serious. “Do you have any ketchup?”

“Why would I have ketchup?” Huber asks in return. “Oh my God, you want to make it look like you’re bloody, don’t you? You are a horrible friend, you don’t deserve Elyse. Here, give me your phone.”

“Why?” Ian asks, skeptical, but he hands it over. 

“Because I’m going to text Elyse so you don’t scare her to death.” He taps out a quick message on Ian’s phone before handing it back. Ian reads over it.

“Aw, you’re too nice to her. Did you really call yourself ‘Huber, the friendly forest stranger who is not an ax murderer’?” Ian chuckles, shaking my head.

“It was my nickname in highschool.” Huber shrugs and Ian cackles, head tossed back. His phone buzzes in his hand. “What’s she saying?”

“She wants me to tell you that you’re too sweet and that she had suspicions about you trying to kill me, but she’s only like fifty-one percent suspicious now. That’s good, she’s still like sixty-two percent suspicious of me at any given moment. I’m not even kidding, she triple-checks with me that I won’t run away before leaving a room.” Ian says, turning off his phone and tucking it back in his pocket.

“Is there a reason for that, or is she just worried about you?” Huber asks and Ian shrugs.

“A bit of both, honestly. I mean, it doesn’t help that I tried to run away in high school.” Ian answers and Huber looks at him. “It was high school, man. Everyone tries to run away in high school.”

“No?” Huber offers. His marshmallow bursts into flames and curses. “Look what you made me do! But no, not everyone runs away in high school. I think most people don’t, actually.”

“They’re missing out, then. You haven’t lived until you’ve spent a night under a bench in a park. Let me tell you, you want some adrenaline? Run away. I’m not even kidding, it gets you  _ pumped _ .” Ian says, taking a bite of his s’more and somehow managing half melted chocolate across his cheek. Huber feels like this is a type of conversation that they shouldn’t be having in the middle of the woods while eating s’mores, maybe it should be held in a psychiatrist’s office with Ian on one of those weird couches and Huber not in the room because it’s definitely not any of his business.

“Well, now I’m like seventy-nine percent suspicious of you and you’re really not helping your own case here.” Huber laughs, nervously.

“Dude, don’t freak out about it. It was years ago and it’s not like I’m going to do it again. I have my own apartment now. Like, really. It’s fine.” Ian shrugs like it’s not a big deal, like he drops that he ran away when he’s younger in casual conversation all the time, like Huber shouldn’t be worried about him. “I’m good, alright? Perfectly fine. A hell of a lot better than I was, trust me.”   
“I do.” Huber says, standing. “It is late, though, so I’m going to go to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams.” Ian waves a hand at him. “Don’t let the bedbugs fight.”

“That is… That is really not the saying.” Huber shakes his head and Ian shrugs.

“Potato, to-mah-to.” Ian responds and Huber buries his face in his hands.

“I’m just- I’m not even going to correct you on that. You can say all the wrong sayings you want, I’m going to bed.” Huber walks over to his tent.

“Night, sweet pea!” Ian calls after him and Huber might blush just a little bit.

Huber is almost, almost asleep when the rain hits, heavy and loud and splashing against the earth. He closes his eyes again, determined not to let the noise deter him from sleep. And then Ian screams.

“Motherfucker!” Ian’s voice rings out through the night and Huber sits up, immediately. “Huber, I told you the next time I got in the tent it would try to kill me! Oh my God, I’m soaking wet! My tent is full of water!”

“What did you do?” Huber shouts back, voice loud above the din. “Fucking- Bring your sleeping bag into my tent, idiot!” A few moments later, a very damp Ian ducks into Huber’s tent, zipping the flap behind him. “What did you do?”

“I touched the tent?” Ian shakes his head. “And then there was water  _ everywhere _ . I thought you said the trees were supposed to protect us from rain!”

“No, I said it would protect us from some of the rain, Ian!” Huber shakes his head. “And you’re not supposed to touch a tent when there’s water on it, it leaks!”

“Well, I figured that out, thanks!” Ian gestures to his wet shirt and hair. Huber groans.

“Fine, fine, you can sleep in here, alright?” Huber allows. “Just don’t touch the tent.”

“I won’t! I don’t think your tent has a personal vendetta against me, at least.” Ian rolls out his sleeping back across the earth.

“I will have a personal vendetta against you if you don’t shut up and let me sleep.” Huber grumbles. And Ian huffs, laying down next to Huber. “Don’t let the bedbugs fight.”

“Aw, you used it!” Ian coos and Huber shushes him, turning onto his side.

Ian, Huber learns, is a very restless sleeper and is also a very warm person. He may or may not learn both of these things when he wakes up in the middle of the night to Ian wrapped around his waist, head laying across his ribs. Huber pinches the bridge of his nose and goes back to sleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, the rain has ceased and Ian has managed to finagle his way into laying nearly completely on top of Huber like a human blanket. Huber tries very hard not to make an audible squeak as soon as he opens his eyes.

“Um. Hey, Ian?” Huber asks, his arms are pinned down by his sides. Ian groans, turning his head and his hair comes dangerously close to Huber’s mouth. “Wake up, Ian!” Ian sits up with a jolt.

“What? Oh, shit, sorry.” He rolls off of Huber, carefully. “I’m a really restless sleeper.”

“Mm, yeah, I think I figured that out.” Huber sits up, groaning. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Ian nods. “Are you though? I kind of like octupused onto you, which, admittedly, I should’ve warned you about the possibility of.”

“Dude, it’s fine, alright? Don’t worry about it.” Huber waves his hand. “I’m just glad that you didn’t drown in your tent last night.”

“I told you, Huber! Mere moments after I got into the tent, it tried to kill me. Kill me, Huber!” Ian grabs his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “You wouldn’t be able to survive without me in these terrible, terrible woods!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.” Huber laughs, pushing Ian away from him. “Loser. Can’t start a fire, can’t set up a tent. I’m starting to think that the only thing you can do is look good.”

“What can I say?” Ian strikes a pose, running a hand through his hair. “I was born to be a trophy wife. That was my high school quote, actually. Elyse’s was ‘Ian is my trophy wife’. Good times.”

“You probably did something weird when you walked across the stage, didn’t you?” Huber accuses and Ian puts his hands up in mock defense. 

“Look, okay, I had heelys. I couldn’t just  _ not _ wear them.” Ian defends himself and Huber looks at him.

“Okay, but you could’ve not? It would have been really simple to just wear different shoes.” Huber points out and Ian huffs.

“Look, okay, I was making a point about rebelling, so leave me be. Elyse did something much, much worse than hearing heelys.” Ian clicks his tongue in distaste. “I mean, at least mine was so I looked cool, hers was just m- Y’know what? You’re going to have to ask her about it yourself when you meet her.”

“When I meet her?” Huber asks, brow furrowing. 

“Yeah, she demanded that she meet you after the selfie. Said that she had to pay her respects to anyone that’s willing to take care of me.” Ian snorts and Huber nods. 

“Alright, I mean, I don’t have a problem with that. Elyse seems cool.” Huber glances around. “We should probably get going, though. I want to be able to see all the fireworks in the valley tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ian nods, looking at Huber. He keeps nodding, awkwardly. 

“We should probably leave the tent.” Huber points out and Ian stops nodding.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that seems like a smart idea. Do you want to go first or sh-”

“I swear to God, Ian, get out of my damn tent.”

“Yeah, okay, that seems like a smart idea, all things con-”

“Get. Out.”

Ian has unofficially given up on cooking any more food after the whole macaroni and cheese incident. They eat granola bars as they resume their hiking pace.

The woods are still that type of eerie that can only be found deep in the forest. Or Targets late at night when that smell of popcorn hangs in the air but no one else is there. Ian is walking next to Huber, humming something, kicking lichen away from their path. 

“Y’know, I used to go in the woods when I was younger.” Ian looks up at the green filtered light coming through the overlapping leaves. “He lived up on the top of a mountain and when my mom would work, I’d go and hang out with him. He had a fort. Well, he called it a fort, but it was more like a hand-made swingset and some branches leaned together.”

“Was it fun, though?” Huber asks. Ian nods.

“Yeah, it was. One time, though, we were climbing up next to a small waterfall and we found this cave and there were glowing eyes in it.” Ian chuckles. “We fell down that waterfall so quickly, we got  _ soaked _ . I don’t know if there actually was a mountain lion in the cave or not, but, y’know. Being a kid, you see a lot of stuff that isn’t there.”

“Sounds like a good time.” Huber chuckles. “I’ve got memories like that, though not as extreme as a large, murderous cat.”

“He was an alright kid when we were younger and we’d hang out in the woods all the time.” Ian crosses his arms against his chest. “And then we got to high school and he decided that he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Actually, I think the last time I’ve actually been in the woods was the summer of eighth grade, right before freshman year started.”

“Wow, did he ruin the woods for you?” Huber asks and Ian shrugs.

“Kind of, I guess. He called me his best bro and I said not quite and then he nearly broke my nose.” Ian looks down, finally,  bitter smile not quite reaching his eyes.  “Fun times.”

“Shit.” Huber breathes and he comes to the realization that at some point during this conversation. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, it was a long time ago.” Ian says and the spell breaks and Ian is walking forward again, Huber scurrying alongside him to catch up. 

“Do you want me to use different pronouns or something because I’ve been calling you Pretty Boy since we met in that clearing, but I can change tha-” Ian cuts him off with a sudden burst of laughter, spreading through the woods around them. A bird high above them chirps back.

“Dude, stop rambling! It’s good, really, it is. I’m genderfluid, it’s no big deal, alright? I’ll tell you if you need to switch from male pronouns.” Ian smirks. “And thanks for that new nickname. Pretty Boy has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Huber flushes.

“Shit, I said that.” He murmurs. Ian laughs again and claps him on the back.

“Indeed you did. C’mon now, let’s pick up the pace. I seem to remember somebody wanting to get to the top before the sun sets.”

“Ian, I can hike faster than you.”

“I’d like to see you try. But don’t, I’ll probably die if you abandon me out here.”

“Hurry up then, Pretty Boy.”

They reach the summit as the sun just begins to fall behind the adjacent mountain ridges. Ian throws Huber his tent.

“Please.” He begs. “I can’t deal with it again. I think it’s still mad at me, anyway.”

“Ian, it’s a  _ tent _ . An inanimate object. It can’t hold grudges.” Huber turns it over in his hands. “I don’t think.”

“You’re acting cagey, Huber, just like that tent. I swear, it’s inhabited by ghosts of the past tents that I’ve accidentally murdered. Okay, that was a really funny pun, but I’m still watching you two.” Ian eyes them both, suspiciously. “I’m going to go stand fifteen feet away from you and it until neither of you have the ability to gang up on me.” Huber rolls his eyes, expecting it to be a joke, but Ian does watch him set up both tents from fifteen feet away.

He helps Huber collect firewood, too, but mostly he just finds caterpillars and tries to put them in Huber’s hair. To Ian’s credit, he succeeds twice, and both times Huber screams. 

The sun has nearly disappeared, the last few rays spreading across the land, and the sky is turning a dark plum when they sit down next to the fire together.

“Where did you get hot dogs from?” Huber asks, watching Ian slowly roast the sausages over the fire.

“Look, man, I had an exceptionally small cooler and I sacrificed the milk for these. Be happy, alright?” Ian smiles at him.

“I never said I was unhappy with it.” Huber smiles back, it’s infectious, really. 

They eat hot dogs on slightly squished buns as he crickets begin to chirp around them and the night really, truly falls. The sky is dark and the earth around them is lit up orange by the glow from their fire. There’s a whistling a burst of light.

“Look.” Ian points and Huber follows his line of sight to see a flurry of brightly coloured lights bursting from the ground. “The fireworks have begun.”

“Nice.” Huber murmurs. There’s a high-pitched scream followed by a cloud of green sparks. “I love fireworks. Used to watch them from my bedroom window when I was little.”

“Cute.” Ian says. “You want to get drunk? I’ve got beers in my bag.”

“Uh, sure?” Huber offers and Ian stands, patting his leg as he gets up. Huber watches as he pulls two cans of beer from his bag and tosses one to Huber, which he nearly misses catching. 

“Alcohol, man. Can’t have the Fourth without it.” Ian pops the top on his with a crack and a hiss.

“I thought Drunk Ian only came around every two weeks.” Huber points out as Ian takes a long pull of beer.

“Drunk Ian gets holidays too because God knows I can’t get through Christmas sober.” Ian says, making a face, and despite himself, Huber chuckles.

“I just order Chinese food and watch foreign stop motion movies. There’s a really good french one about a horse and some aliens and a stolen house.” Huber shrugs, turning his can around in his hands.

“That doesn’t sound like an awful big selection to choose from.” Ian murmurs. “But it sounds fun.”

“It’s repeats every year, basically, but it keeps me brushed up on other languages. Kind of. You can do it with me this year, if you want. I’ve never done it with anyone else, so it might be fun.” Huber exhales something that’s toeing the line between sighing and breathing. “Sounds kind of pathetic, but it’s Christmas, yeah?” Ian nods, looking across the horizons. There’s a whistling and a burst of colour. Families are setting off their fireworks.

“Y’know, this is like Flirting 101. Imply a future, suggest hanging out, get drunk.” Ian wiggles his eyebrows, suggestively, and Huber laughs. “Did it a little out of order, but who cares? And you already called me pretty and we haven’t even been on a first date yet. Oh, almost forgot, got a surprise for you. Hold my beer.” Ian shoves it into Huber’s hand and hobbles across the ground on his knees to his bag.

“I thought the beer was the surprise.” Huber says and Ian shakes his head.

“Beer was only the beginning.” Ian pulls a bag of something from his bigger bag and shakes the contents onto the ground. “Fireworks!”

“Is it really smart to be drinking and setting off fireworks?” Huber questions, looking down at the beers in his hands. 

“Most people are already doing this, man, we’re just joining in on the fun.” Ian holds out his hand. “Here, give me your matchbook.” Huber hands it over and watches as Ian runs to the edge of the mountain. He can see the tiny flames as Ian strikes the match and lights the fuse and comes running back, laughing.

Lights burst into the sky, purple and green and white, and when they subside, Ian runs back out and starts it all over again.

They’re back to sitting next to each other eventually, knees brushing, watching other people’s fireworks explode in the sky. Ian tries to crush his beer can in his hands and only half succeeds before sitting it down next to him.

“Huber.” Ian’s voice is soft and Huber looks over at him. “I had a lot of fun out here with you. This whole trip has cleansed the woods for me, make no mistake, I still hate them, just slightly less, and earned me back my two hundred dollars, so thank you. Also, you’re way too fucking nice and once we get off this God forsaken mountain I’m going to take you out to dinner, on a date, just the two of us and you’re going to meet Elyse. If you want to.” Huber nods, slightly, tilting his chin down. “And right now, if you want I’m going to kiss you.” Huber looks at Ian expectantly, who looks back at him. Huber clicks his tongue and leans forward.

They kiss, lips on lips and skin together, warm together, and there are no fireworks bursting in the sky as their blood boils together because Ian already set them all off.

**Author's Note:**

> my first Easy Allies fanfic, but y'know. gotta start sometime. this was really fun to write, actually, and i totally put off everything else to work on this.  
> you can find me on tumblr at taptaptapping.tumblr.com where I gush about Ian Hinck most of the time.  
> thanks for reading, guys, if you have questions or prompts just hit me up on tumblr, man.


End file.
